


A Real Stand-Up Guy

by allofmyshit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: FWP, Fluff without Plot, Happy Bday Jean!, Is that a tag...?, It's just a bunch of fluff tbh, M/M, Marco is an angel, and jean makes bad puns, not a literal angel tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofmyshit/pseuds/allofmyshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean always liked to believe that not all heroes wore capes.  He never expected his to plop down in the seat across from him after he was stood up by an asshole, covered in freckles and smelling faintly of dogs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Real Stand-Up Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Jeanbo! 
> 
> Is this my first Jeanmarco one-shot? I think so! Wow? 
> 
> There was a post floating around tumblr ages ago that's stuck with me that I got the idea for this for, if I find it I'll edit it in here. Basically? Person A gets stood up and Person B steps in and pretends that they are both their date and simply late.

This

It’s been thirty minutes now.

Jean fidgets and adjusts the collar of his shirt – a _nice_ shirt, a shirt he carefully selected – and knits his hands together on top of the table.  He risks another furtive glance towards the door.  It stays closed.  He stares back at his hands. 

It isn’t like this hasn’t happened before, because it has.  Many times.  But for some reason… _this_ stings.  He tries to ignore it, the hurt threatening to bring tears to his eyes.  Partially because of principles.  Partially because of his audience. 

A well-meaning waitress that’s been eying him since he arrived makes her way towards him.  Jean braces himself.  He tucks his chin against his chest and averts his eyes, hiding from her pretty blue eyes. 

He doesn’t know _why the fuck_ he thought Jaeger would actually want to grab some dinner.  Jean’s secret hate-crush was doomed to be one-sided from the start, and he knew that.  This must be Jaeger’s idea of a sick joke.  _Fucking bastard._  

Or maybe he was just kidding around.  Maybe he didn’t expect Jean to take it seriously.  As much as Jean hates that asshole’s guts right now, he knows that’s probably more likely. 

“Hi, are you ready to order?” the waitress says brightly, brandishing a glistening red pen over her notebook. 

“No… no.”  Jean isn’t able to lift his eyes from the table for longer than a second – it sickens him.  “Just… a few minutes more?”

She nods, and he catches the unmistakable moistness of sympathy in her eyes.  “Alright.  My girlfriend says the traffic’s crazy on Broad right now – maybe they’re caught up there.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jean mutters.  But he and the waitress both know that Eren isn’t coming.  Jean is trussed up like a fool for a guy that didn’t even consider leaving the house.  He ducks his head back against his chest and swallows with difficulty. 

“Okay.”  The waitress clips her pen back to the paper.  “I’ll check back in… fifteen minutes, okay?”

He nods, and she drifts off into his periphery.  As she leaves, his eyes dart to the nametag on her shirt – _Krista._   He likes Krista, he decides.  She’s nice.  He doubts she would ever stand anybody up. 

The family in the booth to his right whispers loudly amongst themselves.  Though their faces are twisted in pity, it seems taunting, almost – _salt in a wound_.  Their blatant stares make Jean feel like he’s beneath a microscope. 

They, of course, aren’t the only ones.  Just the closest. 

It’s another reason he doesn’t want to lift his eyes from the table.  He’s become the tiny diner’s own little soap opera.  An almost indiscernible tremor runs through his hands. 

To distract himself from the mocking attention, he pulls out his phone and taps aimlessly through a few apps.  None of the games really claim his focus.  They’re old and outdated, many finished and even more too stupid to bother with.  Jean stubbornly avoids looking at the messages app – he knows if he pulls it up, he’ll end up scrolling back to the messages Eren sent. 

Jean settles for an unappealing game of Candy Crush.  It isn’t remotely enrapturing, but it’s a distraction from his audience and the relentless march of the minute hand over the clock’s face. 

When he looks up again, Krista is already starting to glance his way again.  A glance towards the clock reveals that his fifteen minutes is already up. 

It hits him like a punch to the gut that _Eren isn’t really coming_.  The lump in his throat becomes unbearably heavy.  His eyes feel itchy and hot, and his shoulders shake with every breath. 

Stubbornly, Jean tunnels his focus on Candy Crush.  If he’s going to eat alone like a sorry bastard, goddammit, he’s at least going to beat his high score.  So he taps his frustration out on the screen with shaking fingers. 

His focus is abruptly broken with someone collapsing in the chair opposite him with a loud sigh.  Blinking, he snaps his gaze up to the stranger.  _What the fuck?_  

“Sorry, love,” says an attractive man Jean has _never seen before._   “Traffic was _nuts_ on Broad.  I would’ve warned you, but my cousin stole my phone.” 

Jean’s mouth falls open.  He’s pretty sure he looks like an idiot.  “Huh…?” 

The stranger sets his arms against the table and leans towards me.  Jean’s eyes are drawn to the thickness of his forearms, the broadness of his hands. 

“Look, my name’s Marco,” the man whispers, “and I’m pretty sure that whoever you’re waiting for… isn’t coming.  So just… go with it?”

He smiles a bit bashfully, reaching up with one arm to scratch at his neck.  A dash of pink flushes across his cheeks, which Jean now realizes are covered in constellations of freckles.  His eyes are a soft brown and kind as sin, and the man smells faintly, but not unpleasantly, of dogs. 

“Okay,” Jean says, offering a hesitant smile.  “I mean – it beats sitting here alone.”

The man – _Marco_ – tips his head back with a melodic laugh.  It’s one of those happy, belly laughs that Jean always finds himself smiling along to.  Marco’s laugh is no different.  Jean feels himself grinning like a fool – the lump in his throat dissolves. 

“I hope you don’t mind my company too much,” Marco says, quietly still.  “If you’d prefer the silence, I’ll stage a tragic breakup.”

“I have a feeling that I’ll be fine.”  He smiles nervously.  “Name’s Jean.  And, uh.  Like, thank you.  So much.  You’re okay with this being… a fake date… thing?” 

“Don’t thank me,” he says, smiling, “I’m not going to turn down a dinner with a handsome man.  Unless you’re not okay…?” 

He looks at Jean pointedly, suddenly sheepish.  It puzzles Jean at first, why Marco might be afraid of his denial, but then it hits him. 

_Oh yeah.  The gay thing._

“I’m cool so long as you pretend to be all over me if the guy actually does show up.”  I smile.  “He’d shit himself if he saw me with someone like you.”

Marco’s eyebrows arch upwards.  “Sounds like a not-very-nice man.”

Jean snickers, thinking of Eren’s smug, stupid face.  “Yeah, he’s not.  _At all._   It’s an unpopular opinion, though.”

“I can’t see anyone who would stand you up as very nice.”  Marco smiles radiantly, like he’s the fucking sun, and a little something in Jean dies.  What could it be?  His dignity?  Maybe.  He’s pretty sure he swoons a bit – Marco’s grin grows a bit wider. 

Before Jean can reply, Krista appears beside their table.  She startles him – he hadn’t noticed her approach, hadn’t noticed much at all since Marco sat down across from him.  Her smile is genuine and cheerful as she hands Marco a menu. 

“Hello, gentlemen, welcome to the diner,” she says brightly.  Then, to Marco: “I was afraid I’d have to serve your boy here without you.  Sure am glad you got here before he starved.”

“Ahhhh, traffic on Broad,” Marco sighs, shaking his head.  “I’m sorry for making you wait, Jean.”

“Hey, it was no problem.”  Jean shoots him a shit-eating grin, then glances up at Krista.  “Every time I look at Marco, it’s like the first time he sat down across from me.”

Marco bows his head and giggles, an adorable bubbly sound.  _He’s got the cutest button nose_ , Jean realizes.  _And he laughs at my bad jokes._

“Well, aren’t you two the cutest?”  She winks at me and uncaps her pen.  “What can I put you down for, boys?”

Jean orders the chicken pot pie and a coke without so much a glancing at the menu.  Smiling knowingly, Krista commends his choices while she patiently waits for Marco to scan the menu she’d just handed him.  He chews on his lower lip anxiously as he flips through, a bit hurried in his searches. 

Marco ends up ordering a bacon cheeseburger, medium rare, with a chocolate milkshake.  _A man after my own heart,_ Jean thinks dreamily.  Sheepishly, he turns to Krista and changes his order to a milkshake as well. 

Krista’s pen clicks, and she clips it back onto her notebook.  With a promise to return quickly, she scurries back to the kitchen before another customer can wave her down. 

Jean falls back into conversation easily with Marco.  He’s a remarkably easy person to speak to, and Jean feels comfortable elaborating the gritty details of his grueling job to him.  Marco’s easy remarks and curious questions make him feel comfortable.  It’s a new feeling, but Jean figures that he can get used to it pretty easily. 

And when Marco speaks, too, Jean finds himself fascinated in what he has to say.  The saint works in an animal shelter; it explains the long white hairs clinging to his blue collared shirt, at least.  His specialty is puppies, but apparently he loves playing with all the animals.  His favorite part is watching them all find new homes, and he confesses with a crimson blush that he might’ve adopted a few dogs himself. 

_Fucking adorable._

Times moves fluidly past.  Jean’s delicious pot pie disappears slowly between the smooth, easy flow of conversation.  People around them leave and exit, but he never spares them more than a momentary glance. 

Marco uses his hands as he talks, gesturing dramatically with open palms and swinging fingers and sometimes, uses his meal.  As he describes a particularly vexing child he had to serve earlier, he jabs a fry up like a spear and apparently forgets he has it, as with his other hand, he grabs a different fry and pops it in his mouth.  Jean has to hide his snickers. 

“Anyway,” Marco sighs, fry still forgotten in one hand, “that’s what I do as a living.  Sorry if I smell like dog – I changed out of my uniform, but I haven’t had time to shower yet.” 

“It’s alright, I’m not allergic.”  Jean leans over, chuckling, and plucks the fry from between Marco’s fingers.  He winks as he pops it in his mouth, smirking at Marco’s befuddled expression. 

“Oh –“  He goes scarlet.  “How long was I holding that?”

“Through several bites of cheeseburger,” Jean says, amused.  “Also, some different fries.  It was pretty impressive.”

“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry.”  Chuckling, he rubs at the back of his neck.  “I’ve, ah.  I’ve been talking for a while, haven’t I?  Oops.”

“Nah, you’re good to keep talking if you want,” Jean offers, taking a sip of his milkshake – it’s creamy and delicious.  He understands why Marco ordered it. 

“You sure?”  Marco fidgets in his seat.  “I don’t want you to have to spend your evening listening to my boring rambles…”

Jean raises his eyebrows.  “You know what would’ve been really boring?  Sitting here alone all night.  I’m a lucky asshole you turned up, Marco.”

“Ahhhh, like I said,” he chuckles, “a pleasure.  I’ve been enjoying this more than I thought, though.  People don’t usually actually listen to me talk about the shelter.”

“Can’t imagine why not.”  Jean grins.  “You’re cute when you’re excited.  Your eyes light up – it’s really adorable.”

Marco smiles.  The tip of the straw twirls between his fingers coyly. 

“Y’know, I almost wish this was a real date,” he says, propping his chin up on a hand.  “I can at least promise to text you if I’m late to dinners.”

“Appealing offer.”  Jean grins.  “Yet another reason you’re so much better than that asshole.  See, if this were a date, I’d treat _you_ to something nicer than a shabby diner.”  His empty glass sits accusingly in front of him.  “…Though the milkshakes _are_ fantastic.”

“They _are_ ,” Marco agrees enthusiastically.  “But if this was a real date, I’d suggest sharing one.  Much more romantic.” 

The realization that Jean would _very much like a real date with Marco_ smacks him upside the head.  He feels his cheeks heating like a schoolboy.  A nervous knot ties in his stomach.  Chuckling awkwardly, Jean wraps his hands around the milkshake glass and stares at his emptied plate. 

“I, uh.  I – um.  Maybe… we could… next time?”

_Goddamn.  That was – awkward as fuck.  Marco might just leave him now._

But it doesn’t seem like that.  In his periphery, Marco’s eyebrows shoot up, and his lips part small, excited O. 

“Y’know… for an actual date?” Jean elaborates, feeling foolish.  His cheeks are actually on fire, he’s sure of it.  “If… that’s something you’d like?  Maybe somewhere nicer if you’d…?”

“Jean.”  A warm hand closes around his fingers, chilled from the cold glass.  “I would _absolutely_ love to have a real date with you.”

Hope warms his chest.  Jean peeks up at Marco sneakily to be met with a stunning smile. 

“And it doesn’t have to be anywhere nice,” Marco adds with a tiny giggle.  “I would be a hundred percent okay with meeting up here again.  If that’s okay with you?”

“That is – _so_ great.”  He lifts his head, meeting Marco’s gaze.  “God, I would’ve treated you, really – but I am _so_ broke right now.”

Marco throws his head back with a cheerful belly laugh.  “Oh, Jean – I can pay!”

“No, no!”  He waves his free hand dismissively.  “Consider it some sort of ‘please don’t stand me up next date’ thing.  I’m going to have trauma for years because of this, that fuckin’ asshole.” 

The gentle circles of Marco’s thumb over the back of his hands tingle warmly.  His hands are pleasantly strong, pleasantly gentle.  They are definitely the hands of someone who handles puppies day in and day out. 

“I hope tonight hasn’t been all bad,” Marco hums, still smiling brightly. 

“You know it hasn’t.”

His smile widens.  “I didn’t want to flatter myself.  But, um.”  He gestures loosely towards the clock with one hand.  “I think our diner’s about to close and – really, our waitress has been absolutely lovely.”

Jean glances at the clock.  Sure enough, the minute hand creeps ever slowly towards eleven, the diner’s closing time. 

“Shit, right, got it.  I think Krista gets a generous tip, right?”

“Hell yeah.”  Marco reaches for his wallet.  “I’ve got that, though –“

“No, you don’t, I do not want someone hot as you standing me up next date,” Jean chides, squeezing Marco’s hand before dropping it. 

“Jean, I’m not going to –“

“To be honest?  You’re like a Prince Charming, I don’t think you will.  But!  You are also a Prince Charming, I’m not taking chances.”

He blushes bright red.  “Jean, you’re sweet, but –“

“I insist.”  Jean winks.  “You saved my day, saved my night – I have every intention of being a gentleman in reply.”

The corner of Marco’s lips quirk.  “Not a ‘fuck on first date’ kind of guy?”

Jean’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.  “I can be whatever you want from a guy on a first date.  But – this was supposed to be my first date with Eren fuckin’ Jaeger.  You’ll have to wait.”

“With bated breath,” Marco vows, eyes glittering excitedly.  “And a thousand promises not to be late.”

Jean smiles widely.  “Six, next week, same place?”

“Hmmmmm…”  Marco shifts in his seat, glancing down at his milkshake.  “I’d… really like to talk to you sooner?  If that’s okay?”

“Eager much?”  Jean pauses, then coughs.  “Yeah, me too.  Didn’t wanna seem… desperate.”

“You wanna exchange numbers and figure that out later?” Marco chuckles, tilting his head to one side.  “All I know is I don’t want to wait a week.”

“Sounds good to me.”  Jean pulls his phone out and slides it across the table.  “Put your name in as whatever, I’m changing it to Prince Charming no matter what.” 

“I’ll save you the trouble,” Marco says with a playful roll of his eyes.  He taps something in quickly and hands it back to Jean. 

“Hey, look,” Marco coughs.  “I, uh.  I hate to run out on you, but I really should get back to my dogs…  I don’t want any accidents…”

Jean nods vigorously as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his tight skinny jeans, which is decidedly difficult.  “Oh, oh, of course!  You can leave, I’m not keeping you here, I’ve got the bill.”

His new date looks at him in the corner of his eye, a bit reproachfully.  “I’m going to slip money into your wallet when I see you again.”

“And I will let you,” Jean chuckles, “as long as you don’t stand me up.”

“Not happening.”  He pulls out his phone and taps something out rapidly.  A smile lifts the corners of Marco’s lips – his eyes glow with a candid softness when they turn back to Jean. 

“This was an awesome night,” Marco says warmly.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been more pleased by impulsively helping a stranger.”

“I’m glad I was a stranger impulsively helped by you,” Jean counters.  He gestures towards the door.  “Go ahead, Marco.  Your dogs need you.”

“Next date, I’ll show pictures,” He chuckles, pulling on his coat – a black pea coat that fits him _quite_ nicely.  “Until next time, Jean.”

“Until next time.”  Jean flicks a mocking salute.  “Don’t stand me up.”

“Never.”

Marco leans over and pecks Jean’s cheek with a chase, innocent kiss.  It’s executed as if they’ve known each other for years, the same easy affection of a solid, steady couple.  Somehow, it’s very Marco.  Jean grins and surges upwards, lacing a hand through Marco’s hair, fisting it, and bringing Marco down to press their lips together for a _real_ kiss –

Marco laughs, evading him easily.  He shrugs Jean’s hand off and takes half step backwards, eyes twinkling mirthfully. 

“First date, remember?” he chides with a wink.  “Have to keep you hooked somehow.”

“You tease,” Jean gasps.   

He laughs again and turns towards the door.  The saint pauses by a tip jar at one of the windows to drop in a few quarters before heading out into the night.  As the glass door swings open, he spares one last sunny smile to Jean, and then disappears into the city night. 

Jean smiles after Marco’s shadow for a few long moments.  Christ, his cheeks hurt from smiling – he can’t remember the last time that’s happened.  Maybe from all the fake smiles at his family reunion?  Maybe. 

His audience is all gone now, all the booths clean and tidy and empty.  He wonders briefly if they carried on their blatant eavesdropping after Marco saved the day – once the freckled man plopped down in the seat opposite him, he’d frankly forgotten all about them.  Surely their lives aren’t boring enough to talk about a man who was late to a dinner date?

A fake dinner date.  The real dinner date is… sometime sooner than next week at six.

Jean pulls out his phone after a moment of hesitation – for all his joking, he really doesn’t want to seem eager, but he’s already missing talking to Marco.  Luckily, there’s already a text from the freckled man waiting on his lock screen.  

 

 **Prince Charming** – 2m ago

_I solemnly swear not to stand you up._

 

In response, Jean types the only thing he can think of. 

 

 **Jean** – now

_You’re a real stand-up guy Marco_

 

 **Prince Charming** – now

_Nooooooo_

 

Jean grins the whole way home. 

**Author's Note:**

> ....So? How was it? 
> 
> Please tell me in the comments so I can improve!! 
> 
> Or, if you prefer, on my [tumblr](do-not-go-gentl.tumblr.com)!


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